


It's the Hardest Thing to Say

by hisfirstnameisagent



Series: Poison and Wine [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sadness, angst angst angst, pre-serum steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisfirstnameisagent/pseuds/hisfirstnameisagent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky wished Steve would understand that some things just aren't going to work out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's the Hardest Thing to Say

Bucky eased the door shut, trying to make as little noise as possible. Steve was one of the lightest sleepers he knew and it was late. Really late and Bucky knew he had overdone it; a night out of drinking and flirting with the dames, inhaling the sweet scent of their perfumes as he danced with them. It was already well into the early morning hours when he'd started the trip back to their apartment, mind and body still a little fuzzy from the booze.

He took his shoes off by the door and hung his coat on the wooden chair beside it, glancing at Steve sleeping as he did so. Bucky was willing to bet that the skinny punk had stayed up all evening worrying over him. Bucky couldn't even count how many times he'd come back to their apartment to look up to their window on the second floor and see Steve standing on the other side, a relieved smile on his face. It made Bucky radiate with warmth every time, to know that someone cared so much and that that someone was _Steve._

He frowned, clearing his throat before walking over to the closet to find some clothes that didn't smell like liquor and perfume. He almost tripped over something as he did so and looked down to find a picture frame he's assuming he had knocked off the wall when he slammed the door earlier. It was a small painting Steve had been given to by his mom and Bucky's positive that it's still in the floor because Steve was too upset to care. Bucky feels like crying.

They'd gotten in an argument earlier, a bad one. The kind where there's shouting and stomping about the apartment and hands are shaking from rage. It had all started when Steve brought up something that had happened the night before. There had been a lot of whiskey and and laughter and leaning onto each other throughout that night. Bucky wonders how they had even made it home in one piece, but they had. And as soon as they had made it through the front door, Bucky had Steve pushed up against it. The memory is clouded by a drunken haze, but there was definitely a kiss. Lips did in fact touch lips, but Bucky _couldn't_ , he just couldn't deal with that.

"It was a dream, Steve," he had said. "Forget about it."

Of course, Steve being Steve, couldn't leave well enough alone. "I know what I'm talking about, Buck. Don't treat me like I'm some idiot."

"I never said you were-"

"You might as well have! We _need_ to talk about this, Bucky! It ain't just gonna go away."

Bucky turned on him quickly, standing at least a good half-foot taller than him. "Enough! You had a dream, Stevie. A drunken dream, that's all. Put it to rest."

"Why are you always so afraid to talk about your feelings?" and really, he was the bravest dumb kid Bucky knew.

Bucky had sighed, running a hand through his hair before marching over to the closet to grab his coat and shoes.

"Where are you going?" Steve had asked, and he sounded _hurt_ and goddammit, Bucky just wanted to hold him for the rest of eternity. To kiss the hurt off his face and tell him how sorry he was, but the country was at war and he could think of nothing more selfish than to worry over something as silly as being in love with his best friend. He had to remind himself that being with another man just wasn't realistic. He had been fine with ignoring his feelings. Why couldn't Steve do the same?

"I'm going out," he had replied, tying his shoes so tight they were probably gonna cut off the circulation.

"Well when are you gonna be back?"

He had looked at Steve one last time before answering. "I don't know. But don't wait up for me because we're never gonna finish this conversation. It's over."

Steve had opened his mouth to say something else, but Bucky had cut him off, "Steve, just stop." The door had slammed behind him and he flinched, but continued walking away.

Bucky picked the painting up off the floor, hanging it back in its place. The frame had a crack in it and he promised himself that he was gonna buy a new one when he got his next paycheck.

He changed into another shirt and stripped down to his briefs before walking over to his bed. His head was already pounding from the alcohol and he just hoped he'd be better by the time his afternoon shift at the docks rolled around. He sat down on the edge of his bed, not even three feet away from where Steve lay shirtless on his side, back facing him. Moonlight pooled through the window, illuminating Steve's bed and he used to complain about it until Bucky reminded him one day that he was the one who had wanted his bed by the window.

Bucky remained sitting there, staring at the three freckles on Steve's back. They formed a perfect triangle and sometimes Bucky would have to fight the urge to trace his finger along them. The dark spots were such a contrast to Steve's pale skin. Bucky's eyes roamed up to the back of Steve's head. His blonde hair still perfectly immaculate even his sleep and sometimes Bucky would ruffle it just to feel how soft it is and also to get a smile from Steve. Steve had one of the nicest smiles Bucky had ever seen and he should at least be thankful that God gave him that. He may be a sickly guy, but his smile could probably be the cure to TB.

Steve was beautiful and Bucky had a hard time understanding how none of the girls in Brooklyn could realize it. They just didn't understand the overwhelming depth of what they were missing out on. Steve was kind and he was artistic and funny and dammit, he was loyal to all ends. Steve would literally go down fighting for something he believed in and he was quite possibly the number one role model in Bucky's life.

Steve shifted in his sleep, turning onto his back and Bucky held his breath. If Steve was awake, he wouldn't know what to do. Say he's sorry? Act like nothing ever happened? Talk about the weather? But he wasn't and Bucky let out a breath, grateful to not be caught staring.

"You're gonna be the death of me," Bucky muttered to Steve's sleeping form. "I swear. I am going to die and it's going to be all your fault, kid."

"Let's hope not too soon," Steve whispered back, so quietly Bucky wasn't sure he had actually heard it, but then Steve turned his head and smiled that small smile he only used for Bucky.

"Steve," Bucky started, but stopped because he had no idea what else to say. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He wanted to apologize about the painting.

Steve shook his head, that smile still playing on his lips. "Nice to see you found your way back."

Bucky laughed, but it was short and clipped. His mouth was dry. He nodded. "Yeah, I..I'll always find my way back." The weight of those words landed hard on both their shoulders and if eyes were the window to the soul, then Bucky could see that Steve's soul was full of nothing but love and devotion and that was all he needed to affirm that they were gonna be okay. They didn't need to finish the conversation from earlier because he was pretty sure they both knew the answer.

Steve scooted over in his bed, patting the newly empty spot beside him. Bucky eyed it warily. They'd slept in the same bed plenty of times, but it would be different now. Everything would be different.

"It's cold," Steve said, shrugging.

There was a pause and Steve almost regretted it but then Bucky was up and standing beside his bed and pulling the sheets up to slide in."You know you could always wear a shirt," he said, laughing.

"You know those things itch," Steve said, grinning. "Besides, all of mine are dirty."

Bucky huffed a laugh and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in close. He waited a moment, eyebrows burrowing in distress and gulping before he said it, "I'm going to war, Steve."

Steve looked at him, throat catching on a breath. "You enlisted?"

Bucky nodded slowly. He had received his draft notice a week ago. "Umm, yeah...yeah, I did."

Steve made a noise of frustration and said, "I've tried two times already, but that's not gonna stop me. You're not gonna be alone, Buck, I promise."

Bucky looked at Steve, Steve with his tiny body and his big, blue eyes and he imagined Steve going to war and it hurt more than anything. Steve would never make it out there. Hell, he probably wouldn't even make it through basic training. As much as Bucky would want him fighting by his side, he didn't want that kind of life for Steve. He knew what war did to people and it wasn't pretty. The last thing he would want is to have to watch Steve suffer through nightmares or worse, lose a limb. Or an even worse option that Bucky just refused to think about.

Bucky sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and holding Steve tighter. He wasn't ready for another argument.

Steve turned on his side, this time facing Bucky.He started humming a song and Bucky smiled. Steve had always been the more artistic and musical of the two. Bucky was tone-deaf as all hell. They stayed like that for a few minutes, just breathing in each other and Bucky listening to Steve hum.

Steve stopped suddenly and Bucky opened his eyes. Steve was staring at him, not even ashamed at being caught doing it either.

"What?" Bucky asked.

"Nothing," Steve answered, smiling. He brought his forehead to Bucky's. Bucky closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He wanted to tell Steve everything, but he just couldn't, especially knowing that he'd be leaving him soon.

"Everything is gonna be fine," Steve said. And Bucky really, really hoped he was right.

**Author's Note:**

> meant to be sort of a prequel to http://archiveofourown.org/works/2000700
> 
> I keep writing sad, angsty things. I need professional help, obviously.


End file.
